


Nothing to Fear

by Maidenjedi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-30
Updated: 2002-04-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 09:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15507285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/pseuds/Maidenjedi
Summary: Late at night, in the Slytherin common room, a Hogwarts student contemplates fear and the Dark side.





	Nothing to Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the HP Improv #6: more - sweep - period - animal
> 
> Beta by Zsenya.

When he was a very small child, the dark frightened him. He would thrash about, kicking and screaming and yelling for his mother. His father would come into the room and tell him in no certain terms to calm the hell down, it was only nighttime, nothing to fear.

Nothing to fear.

He sat now in a darkened common room, empty of the usual clamor of students. There was no moon out tonight, and for that he was thankful. Nothing to fear, right, Dad? He swallowed back years of bitter rhetoric; his father was far away, and even the fears of childhood seemed petty and weak in the face of greater danger.

A week before, the Dark Mark had appeared, glittery and menacing, over the streets of Hogsmeade. All of Slytherin was placed under scrutiny, not so much officially as discriminately by other students. His lip curled in a bitter, disdainful sneer. Had to be a Slytherin gone bad, hadn't it? Gryffindor especially seemed to glance in Slytherin's direction whenever "Dark Arts" were mentioned. Couldn't possibly be the house of the mighty lion, could it, that bred Dark magicians? Had to be the snake, that dastardly clever animal, the devil's form of choice and the very symbol of the Dark Arts.

It was a token argument at best. He knew as well as anyone that it had been a Slytherin in Hogsmeade, and it would be so hard to determine who, with students being withdrawn or even deserting in greater numbers every day. He wondered if that person sat next to him each day in Potions, or if it would be the next person to walk through the portrait hole.

He wondered, somewhat maniacally, if it could be him.

They'd read all about the Imperious Curse in Defense Against the Dark Arts at the beginning of the fall term. He remembered sniggering along with a friend, at what fun it would be to control what someone else was doing. Of course, points were taken from Slytherin for it, their professor muttering at how flippant students had become, at how they simply didn't understand.

Didn't understand what? he felt like screaming at the professor, who had turned to answer some inane question from a Hufflepuff in the front row. Some of us, he thought now, have seen what the Dark Arts will do to a

person. Some of us have witnessed death and destruction far beyond that about which our peers whisper excitedly.

He sighed, feeling the pressure of lost sleep weigh heavily on him, knowing it would cost him dearly in the weeks ahead. He would have given in, but more and more his dreams were plagued with nightmares, visions of times best forgotten. His father's voice, vehement pleas and demands for his son to just listen, to try and understand the allure that was Dark magic. To give in, to join the cause, to allow himself to be tattooed and summoned at will.

Someone's will. Some _other_ will.

He thought of his father's face, his expression. Since the first Dark Mark lit up the night months ago, that expression had turned from bitter anger to something darker, more twisted.

Fear.

He drew in a breath, suddenly understanding.

Fear had turned his father evil, swept him up in a storm of hatred and prejudice. Fear would work that same magic in him, because he was his father's son, and there was some vital truth in that old admonishment.

Only nighttime, nothing to fear.

Nothing to fear.

Nothing to fear, but fear itself.

Danger was imminent, the very halls of Hogwarts were no longer as safe as they once were, but it was not evil curses or Dementors or a man in a sweeping black cloak come to collect a debt. The danger, he realized, was giving in to fear.

The next night, sleep came easily, and the boy's nightmares subsided.

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Glass Onion](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Glass_Onion), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Glass Onion’s collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/glassonion/profile).


End file.
